Reposting a story for new readers
Just a section of a story I've written, and revised a little, for the benefit of new readers.
She found herself on a hill, a chilly breeze whipping her hair around her face. She looked around, and initially, she seemed to be alone. She was wearing a skirt, yellow as the flowers around her, and a blouse, and noticed a shift underneath. She wondered where she was, who she was, why she might be there. She kept looking around for some sign of familiarity.
Then, off in the distance, she saw something. Someone.
It was a man, standing on an opposite summit. He wore the clothing and trappings of a Celtic warrior, or at least, it looked like it, the best she could tell from the distance.
Aw, hell, she thought. I’m dreaming about the ren faire. That’s probably a figment of Tim in my imagination.
The figure started to come toward her, going across the lower ground between the two hills and then up again. It wasn’t long before he was standing about ten feet away from her, looking at her in disbelief. At that close proximity, she could see that it was definitely not Tim. And it wasn’t Simon, either. This was a face she didn’t know. Dark hair, light eyes, fair skin, red cheeks from the wind. Young, yet also battle-hardened. One hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he held a bow in the other. Arrows peeked over his shoulder, ostensibly from a quiver on his back. Was he fighting? Or was he hunting?
Suddenly he fell to his knees, and crossed himself.
She looked at him strangely. Then she looked around, thinking he was seeing something she wasn’t. Nothing behind her, nothing above her.
“You’re her,” he said. “The…you’re the angel. The one in my dreams.”
She looked around again. “Me?”
“You,” he said, giving her an odd look.
She shook her head. “I’m no angel.”
He bowed his head. Then he looked up again. “Are you sure you’re not an angel sent from God?”
“I’m very sure I’m not an angel,” Caelie replied. “There’s no need for you to be on your knees in a prayer pose. I’m just…just me.”
“Caelie,” he said. “I remember now. Your name is Caelie.”
“How did you…?” She was startled, and starting to feel quite scared.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “The old witch told me your name. Haven’t you heard me calling you?”
Caelie stared at him. “Old witch? What did she look like?”
“An old witch,” the young man said. “Long hair of several shades, big eyes, small. She gave me this.” He put down his bow and held out his hand. He opened his fist to reveal a stone. A red stone, in the shape of a heart.
“Oh, dear God,” she said. Hers was on the end table in…no, wait. She felt in her pocket. There was something there. She reached in, and pulled out the stone, holding it tightly.
She took a few steps toward him, and held out her hand so that it was side-by-side with his. Then she opened her fingers. The two stones seemed to light up when placed together.
“There are some truly weird things going on here,” she said.
“Caelie,” the young man said. “Caelie. She said…you were the true love I was to look for.”
“She told me you were looking for me,” Caelie whispered in awe. “But she didn’t tell me your name.”
“Conall,” he said quietly. “I am Conall O’Neill, second son of The O’Neill.”
“I see,” Caelie said. She wondered if telling him that her last name was Morrigan--the name of the Celtic goddess of war--was a wise idea. “Conall.”
“You must come with me,” Conall said. “I have been telling my father and my brothers that I have seen visions of an angel. They do not believe me. If they see you, they will believe me. You are the one I have seen in my visions, in my dreams. You have not seen me, until now, until the old woman gave you the stone. Now you must come with me, so they might believe me.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not ready. This is only the first I have known about you. I am not ready for this. This must be a secret still, for awhile.”
Conall looked at her with disappointed eyes. “You do not wish to be with me?”
“I don’t know yet,” Caelie sighed. “This is new. I am so uncertain of everything. You’re supposed to be my true love, and I yours, but I’ve only just found out your name. And I’ve just lost my true love. Or, the one I thought was my true love. I am still mourning him.” She did her best to try to sound, well, medieval.
“Was he killed in battle?” Conall asked. Oh, wow, Caelie thought. He has no idea. I have no idea. Where are we anyhow?
“No,” she said. “It was…an accident.”
Conall gave her a sympathetic look. “You must tell me about it.”
“Not now,” she said. “I need to get to know you before I can open my heart to you.”
“I hope you can open your heart to me,” he said quietly. “I have sought you for so long, and now, I have found you. I can already say that I love you. My heart has led me here. If I have found you here, as I was told I might, then the old witch must be right.”
Caelie hung her head. “I wish I were as certain, Conall.”
“I have found you,” Conall said. “And I know that I want no other after seeing you.” He stepped close, so close that they were nearly touching. He took his hand off his sword, and placed it on her cheek. “What beauty God has chosen to send to me. Far beyond anything other clans have offered as brides for me. You will certainly make my elder brother jealous. Even his wife, a princess, does not have the beauty I behold in my eyes.”
His blue eyes were hypnotic. She looked up into them, and a chill went up her spine and through her stomach.
“Your father,” he said. “I must speak with him.”
She kept her eyes locked with his, and said, “My father is dead. So is my mother. I have no family. By your standards, I…I have nothing. Only friends who have taken me in.”
His gaze went back to that sympathetic look again. “But you have me. All I have, it will be yours, as much as it is mine.”
“You cannot promise that, Conall,” Caelie said, digging deep into her knowledge of medieval Celtic society. “You can only get that from your father.”
“But I can give you this promise,” he said. “I am yours. I will not seek another bride so long as I know you will still come to me. That you have no family or property is of no concern to me. I may not have much of my own if my brother produces an heir to his inheritance.”
“You have to compete for your father’s inheritance?” I asked, finding this quite strange.
“My brother and I were born of our mother on the same day,” he explained. “My brother Cahan was born first. We thought as we were children that because he was firstborn, he would succeed our father as leader of the clan. Then, when we were determined to be of age to marry, he told us that the first of us to produce an heir for ourselves will be named his heir. And of course, my brother was the first to marry, having found and then taken for himself the daughter of another clan chieftain.
“I have waited. I did not wish to find a woman that way, by violence or by arrangement. I wished to choose well, so that I would have more than a mare to breed for me. I want to enjoy the company of the woman I choose into my old age. My brother has a child, but it is a daughter for him, just two weeks old now. He wishes to have the throne of the O’Neills very badly, because he is a warrior and wants to make war for the sake of war. He will soon be forcing himself upon the poor girl he made wife, to try for a son this time. I choose you, my Caelie, and I wish not only to make peace for us, but I wish for you to be beside me, for children, and for the pleasures of companionship and wisdom and a warm bed shared with a beautiful woman. The throne matters not to me, unless it is the will of God that I should have it.”
This was a very big drop of information into her brain.
“Caelie,” he said, “I will not care for you in order to get you to make me the father of the heir. Someday, we will have our own family. If my firstborn is a son or not, it matters not. And I will wait until you are ready to be bound to me. But please, do not leave me forever. If you must leave me, promise me that you will return.”
He then brought his lips to hers, and kissed her, gently, like a first kiss. In her own world, in her own time, she would be screaming sexual harassment. But with this man, she could not. He was far too loving, far too gentle to be harassing her. And she was feeling something with him.
This kiss felt real.
She returned it, tentatively, softly, without a thought of Simon on her mind at all.
“Conall,” she whispered. “Conall. I will come back to you. Soon.”
He looked lovingly into her eyes. “My angel from God,” he said. He reached into his pouch and pulled something out. It was a bracelet, made of bronze. “This belongs to me. It bears a mark that shows me to be a prince. Take it, to remind you that I wait for you.”
She took the bracelet, and placed it on her wrist, as Conall watched. He smiled proudly.
“What if you need to prove your identity?” Caelie asked him, awed by the gift.
“I have another like it,” he said, pulling it out of his pouch. “I give one to you, so you will not forget your prince.”
She thought, and thought. It’s only a dream, right? I’ll wake up, and everything will be as before. It will all be back to normal again. The power of suggestion made me have this dream.
She took the diamond ring from her finger. “For you, Conall,” she said. “Once, I was somebody’s princess. This is almost all I have left of…of that time. I have nothing else to give you. Please, take it, and remember me. And you can prove to your family that I am more than a vision.” She put the ring into his hand.
Conall looked closely at the ring. “Your family once had great wealth. I have never seen such a thing.”
“Once, I did have great wealth,” Caelie said. With Simon, she certainly had been rich, if only in those things that were intangible. “Then I lost my family, and lost my love, and there are only old men and women left to care for me. This is all that remains. But I wish for you to have it. It is a promise, that I will return.”
He reached into his pouch, and pulled out a thin leather strip. He threaded it through the ring, and then tied it tightly around his neck. It hung outside his shirt, at first. He looked at it, clutched it in his fist, and then tucked it behind his shirt.
“If I could go with you, I would,” Caelie said. “But the time isn’t right. I need more time.”
“I understand.” Conall cupped her cheek again. “I will not forget you, Caelie.”
“I hope you won't,” Caelie said. “Because I know I will not forget you.” She put her hand over his. “When can we meet again?”
“Whenever you dream, I will be here,” he said. “And whenever I dream, I will find you.”
He kissed her again, and she responded to him in a way she had only responded to one other man. It both scared her and excited her. And yet, he was going to be gone the minute she woke up.
“Conall,” she whispered. “Stay with me until I wake.”
“Do not wake too soon, my Caelie,” he said softly, and he kissed her again, and she willingly accepted his gift.
She reached up to touch his face. There was a small growth of beard there. His dark hair was silky, and soft, and longer than she expected. He was likewise running his fingers through her hair, an exploration of something new, something precious. He held her gently, like a newborn lamb, and kept on kissing her…
*****
Caelie woke to a dark room. Eyes wide open, as if in surprise, she felt around her. The sleeping bag. Her watch. Her ring.
No. The ring wasn’t there.
She felt her wrist, and then turned on the light behind her and raised her arm. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that her ring was gone, and there, on her wrist, was the bronze bracelet, with an engraving of a horse on it.
Conall.
Her mind was too full to think. She tried to go back to sleep, but the amazing, lucid, vivid dream she’d just had…wait. It couldn’t have been a dream.
She sat up and looked at the end table. The red crystal had ceased glowing, but it was still there.
She picked it up, stared at it, and closed her hand around it.
Conall. Oh, God, Conall. If only you were here. Maybe you could help me get on with my life.
I will return. I promise. Tomorrow night.
She found herself on a hill, a chilly breeze whipping her hair around her face. She looked around, and initially, she seemed to be alone. She was wearing a skirt, yellow as the flowers around her, and a blouse, and noticed a shift underneath. She wondered where she was, who she was, why she might be there. She kept looking around for some sign of familiarity.
Then, off in the distance, she saw something. Someone.
It was a man, standing on an opposite summit. He wore the clothing and trappings of a Celtic warrior, or at least, it looked like it, the best she could tell from the distance.
Aw, hell, she thought. I’m dreaming about the ren faire. That’s probably a figment of Tim in my imagination.
The figure started to come toward her, going across the lower ground between the two hills and then up again. It wasn’t long before he was standing about ten feet away from her, looking at her in disbelief. At that close proximity, she could see that it was definitely not Tim. And it wasn’t Simon, either. This was a face she didn’t know. Dark hair, light eyes, fair skin, red cheeks from the wind. Young, yet also battle-hardened. One hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he held a bow in the other. Arrows peeked over his shoulder, ostensibly from a quiver on his back. Was he fighting? Or was he hunting?
Suddenly he fell to his knees, and crossed himself.
She looked at him strangely. Then she looked around, thinking he was seeing something she wasn’t. Nothing behind her, nothing above her.
“You’re her,” he said. “The…you’re the angel. The one in my dreams.”
She looked around again. “Me?”
“You,” he said, giving her an odd look.
She shook her head. “I’m no angel.”
He bowed his head. Then he looked up again. “Are you sure you’re not an angel sent from God?”
“I’m very sure I’m not an angel,” Caelie replied. “There’s no need for you to be on your knees in a prayer pose. I’m just…just me.”
“Caelie,” he said. “I remember now. Your name is Caelie.”
“How did you…?” She was startled, and starting to feel quite scared.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “The old witch told me your name. Haven’t you heard me calling you?”
Caelie stared at him. “Old witch? What did she look like?”
“An old witch,” the young man said. “Long hair of several shades, big eyes, small. She gave me this.” He put down his bow and held out his hand. He opened his fist to reveal a stone. A red stone, in the shape of a heart.
“Oh, dear God,” she said. Hers was on the end table in…no, wait. She felt in her pocket. There was something there. She reached in, and pulled out the stone, holding it tightly.
She took a few steps toward him, and held out her hand so that it was side-by-side with his. Then she opened her fingers. The two stones seemed to light up when placed together.
“There are some truly weird things going on here,” she said.
“Caelie,” the young man said. “Caelie. She said…you were the true love I was to look for.”
“She told me you were looking for me,” Caelie whispered in awe. “But she didn’t tell me your name.”
“Conall,” he said quietly. “I am Conall O’Neill, second son of The O’Neill.”
“I see,” Caelie said. She wondered if telling him that her last name was Morrigan--the name of the Celtic goddess of war--was a wise idea. “Conall.”
“You must come with me,” Conall said. “I have been telling my father and my brothers that I have seen visions of an angel. They do not believe me. If they see you, they will believe me. You are the one I have seen in my visions, in my dreams. You have not seen me, until now, until the old woman gave you the stone. Now you must come with me, so they might believe me.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not ready. This is only the first I have known about you. I am not ready for this. This must be a secret still, for awhile.”
Conall looked at her with disappointed eyes. “You do not wish to be with me?”
“I don’t know yet,” Caelie sighed. “This is new. I am so uncertain of everything. You’re supposed to be my true love, and I yours, but I’ve only just found out your name. And I’ve just lost my true love. Or, the one I thought was my true love. I am still mourning him.” She did her best to try to sound, well, medieval.
“Was he killed in battle?” Conall asked. Oh, wow, Caelie thought. He has no idea. I have no idea. Where are we anyhow?
“No,” she said. “It was…an accident.”
Conall gave her a sympathetic look. “You must tell me about it.”
“Not now,” she said. “I need to get to know you before I can open my heart to you.”
“I hope you can open your heart to me,” he said quietly. “I have sought you for so long, and now, I have found you. I can already say that I love you. My heart has led me here. If I have found you here, as I was told I might, then the old witch must be right.”
Caelie hung her head. “I wish I were as certain, Conall.”
“I have found you,” Conall said. “And I know that I want no other after seeing you.” He stepped close, so close that they were nearly touching. He took his hand off his sword, and placed it on her cheek. “What beauty God has chosen to send to me. Far beyond anything other clans have offered as brides for me. You will certainly make my elder brother jealous. Even his wife, a princess, does not have the beauty I behold in my eyes.”
His blue eyes were hypnotic. She looked up into them, and a chill went up her spine and through her stomach.
“Your father,” he said. “I must speak with him.”
She kept her eyes locked with his, and said, “My father is dead. So is my mother. I have no family. By your standards, I…I have nothing. Only friends who have taken me in.”
His gaze went back to that sympathetic look again. “But you have me. All I have, it will be yours, as much as it is mine.”
“You cannot promise that, Conall,” Caelie said, digging deep into her knowledge of medieval Celtic society. “You can only get that from your father.”
“But I can give you this promise,” he said. “I am yours. I will not seek another bride so long as I know you will still come to me. That you have no family or property is of no concern to me. I may not have much of my own if my brother produces an heir to his inheritance.”
“You have to compete for your father’s inheritance?” I asked, finding this quite strange.
“My brother and I were born of our mother on the same day,” he explained. “My brother Cahan was born first. We thought as we were children that because he was firstborn, he would succeed our father as leader of the clan. Then, when we were determined to be of age to marry, he told us that the first of us to produce an heir for ourselves will be named his heir. And of course, my brother was the first to marry, having found and then taken for himself the daughter of another clan chieftain.
“I have waited. I did not wish to find a woman that way, by violence or by arrangement. I wished to choose well, so that I would have more than a mare to breed for me. I want to enjoy the company of the woman I choose into my old age. My brother has a child, but it is a daughter for him, just two weeks old now. He wishes to have the throne of the O’Neills very badly, because he is a warrior and wants to make war for the sake of war. He will soon be forcing himself upon the poor girl he made wife, to try for a son this time. I choose you, my Caelie, and I wish not only to make peace for us, but I wish for you to be beside me, for children, and for the pleasures of companionship and wisdom and a warm bed shared with a beautiful woman. The throne matters not to me, unless it is the will of God that I should have it.”
This was a very big drop of information into her brain.
“Caelie,” he said, “I will not care for you in order to get you to make me the father of the heir. Someday, we will have our own family. If my firstborn is a son or not, it matters not. And I will wait until you are ready to be bound to me. But please, do not leave me forever. If you must leave me, promise me that you will return.”
He then brought his lips to hers, and kissed her, gently, like a first kiss. In her own world, in her own time, she would be screaming sexual harassment. But with this man, she could not. He was far too loving, far too gentle to be harassing her. And she was feeling something with him.
This kiss felt real.
She returned it, tentatively, softly, without a thought of Simon on her mind at all.
“Conall,” she whispered. “Conall. I will come back to you. Soon.”
He looked lovingly into her eyes. “My angel from God,” he said. He reached into his pouch and pulled something out. It was a bracelet, made of bronze. “This belongs to me. It bears a mark that shows me to be a prince. Take it, to remind you that I wait for you.”
She took the bracelet, and placed it on her wrist, as Conall watched. He smiled proudly.
“What if you need to prove your identity?” Caelie asked him, awed by the gift.
“I have another like it,” he said, pulling it out of his pouch. “I give one to you, so you will not forget your prince.”
She thought, and thought. It’s only a dream, right? I’ll wake up, and everything will be as before. It will all be back to normal again. The power of suggestion made me have this dream.
She took the diamond ring from her finger. “For you, Conall,” she said. “Once, I was somebody’s princess. This is almost all I have left of…of that time. I have nothing else to give you. Please, take it, and remember me. And you can prove to your family that I am more than a vision.” She put the ring into his hand.
Conall looked closely at the ring. “Your family once had great wealth. I have never seen such a thing.”
“Once, I did have great wealth,” Caelie said. With Simon, she certainly had been rich, if only in those things that were intangible. “Then I lost my family, and lost my love, and there are only old men and women left to care for me. This is all that remains. But I wish for you to have it. It is a promise, that I will return.”
He reached into his pouch, and pulled out a thin leather strip. He threaded it through the ring, and then tied it tightly around his neck. It hung outside his shirt, at first. He looked at it, clutched it in his fist, and then tucked it behind his shirt.
“If I could go with you, I would,” Caelie said. “But the time isn’t right. I need more time.”
“I understand.” Conall cupped her cheek again. “I will not forget you, Caelie.”
“I hope you won't,” Caelie said. “Because I know I will not forget you.” She put her hand over his. “When can we meet again?”
“Whenever you dream, I will be here,” he said. “And whenever I dream, I will find you.”
He kissed her again, and she responded to him in a way she had only responded to one other man. It both scared her and excited her. And yet, he was going to be gone the minute she woke up.
“Conall,” she whispered. “Stay with me until I wake.”
“Do not wake too soon, my Caelie,” he said softly, and he kissed her again, and she willingly accepted his gift.
She reached up to touch his face. There was a small growth of beard there. His dark hair was silky, and soft, and longer than she expected. He was likewise running his fingers through her hair, an exploration of something new, something precious. He held her gently, like a newborn lamb, and kept on kissing her…
*****
Caelie woke to a dark room. Eyes wide open, as if in surprise, she felt around her. The sleeping bag. Her watch. Her ring.
No. The ring wasn’t there.
She felt her wrist, and then turned on the light behind her and raised her arm. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that her ring was gone, and there, on her wrist, was the bronze bracelet, with an engraving of a horse on it.
Conall.
Her mind was too full to think. She tried to go back to sleep, but the amazing, lucid, vivid dream she’d just had…wait. It couldn’t have been a dream.
She sat up and looked at the end table. The red crystal had ceased glowing, but it was still there.
She picked it up, stared at it, and closed her hand around it.
Conall. Oh, God, Conall. If only you were here. Maybe you could help me get on with my life.
I will return. I promise. Tomorrow night.